


Two worlds pressed together

by stormthedarkcity



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Multi, Non-Binary OC, oc meets oc
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-07
Updated: 2020-02-07
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:54:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22605064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stormthedarkcity/pseuds/stormthedarkcity
Summary: Bee Mahariel encounters a strange phenomenon at Kinloch Hold: in one of the libraries, a space opened where their world is temporarily meeting Aedan Cousland's world.
Relationships: Alistair/Male Warden (Dragon Age), Alistair/Zevran Arainai/Warden, Zevran Arainai/Warden
Comments: 9
Kudos: 7





	Two worlds pressed together

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Saltlordofold](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saltlordofold/gifts).



> This was a birthday gift for Saltlordofold! <3 <3 Aedan Cousland is theirs, Bee is mine!

Kinloch Hold was eerily quiet when they’d stopped their advance to rest for the night. The floors below had been ridden of any life form one way or the other, and the ones above them were still home to Creators-only-know what horrors lying in wait for them. They’d barricaded the doors leading to the whole floor so as to be able to sleep without setting up watch shifts, but Bee was finding themselves incapable of staying still in their bedroll for more than a few minutes. Sighing, they pushed their covers aside and resolved to walk around the empty floor until sleep was an option.

Through the heavy wooden door guarding the study room they’d stopped in was a circular hallway that smelled of rot and cold stone, lit only by the small sliver of moonlight straining through a window high up in the wall. Bee followed it, letting their feet drag on the thin carpet, carefully following the pattern of it. They passed by several doors leading to labs and more study rooms, barely managing to avoid the sickly green remains of some slain demon seeping in the cracks of the stones here and there.

The light slowly dimmed until it was almost nonexistent as the hallway curved gently, and Bee was about to turn back before they hit a wall when they noticed a glow somewhere in front of them, so faint they mistook it for a mere hallucinations caused by the lack of light for a few heartbeats.

Bee’s feet stuttered as they looked around themselves in an attempt to make out truth from fabrication, and then they pushed forward, both hands held out in front of them to avoid an unfortunate brutal encounter with a wall. Slowly, they found their way further down the hallway and into the central library, where the light was coming from.

_What—_

In the middle of the small room was a faintly luminous shape, as tall as a man and half as wide. Its bluish green tendrils were swaying softly in an inexistent wind, like algae at the bottom of a river. And in the middle of it — no, not in the middle, _through_ it — was a silhouette.

A silhouette with its sword drawn.

Bee mindlessly reached for their bow, before being brutally reminded that it was still in the other room, with their pack; so instead they drew their knife from their belt, squeezing their jaw tight against the knowledge of how little defence it would offer against a sword that was almost as long as they were tall.

“Hello?”

The voice echoed in the room as the silhouette shifted. Its tone was soft, low-pitched, and something in its confusion made Bee relax a little.

The silhouette’s sword, however, didn’t waver. “Who are you?” The echo of the voice wasn’t quite right, it was as though it was happening in a much bigger room than the one they were actually standing in. “What is this,” it continued, “why are you here?”

Now the tone was growing urgent, the kind of suspicious urgence that caused people to make harsh decisions. Bee let their stance loosen up, although they didn’t drop their knife just yet.

“I’m Bee,” they said. “We’re trying to reach Uldred, make him listen to reason.”

And then the silhouette stepped forward, finally, and the luminous shape between them bathed the edges of him in soft blue light.

It was a man, a human, although fairly short, if Alistair was to be taken as a reference. He had dark skin and close-cropped black hair, but the most striking thing of all was his pale eyes, rendered almost luminescent in the current conditions.

Actually, the most relevant item to notice would probably have been the fact that despite carrying a sword, he wasn’t wearing any sort of armour, and looked rather like he had just woken up and wouldn’t be such a terribly hard fight should Bee have to defend themselves. But priorities had never been their strong suit.

“I don’t understand,” he said, frowning, “I thought we were the only people allowed in the Tower since the conflict broke.”

Bee eyed his sword, which wasn’t pointed at them anymore, but was still standing at the ready.

“I thought that as well,” they said, stepping closer. “My party and I got here this morning, and the doors hadn’t been opened in days.”

The man narrowed his eyes, gaze steady. “Why would they lie to us?”

Bee licked their lips. There was one explanation. One insane, so improbable explanation, and yet… That shape between them, like a door, or a _mirror_ , pulsing with such unknowable and ancient magic…

“Unless…they didn’t lie to us,” Bee tentatively offered.

The man snorted. “What, they forgot they made a deal with two different groups of soldiers?”

“No, that’s not what I’m saying.” Bee took a deep breath. “This is a long shot, but it wouldn’t be the weirdest thing I’ve seen since leaving my clan,” they said, more to themselves. “Are you a Grey Warden?” they asked.

“Depends, are you working for Loghain?”

Bee laughed. “You’ve got a point. Right, more precise, then.” They paused to think. “Are you travelling with a witch named Morrigan?”

The sword in the man’s hand twitched at that, as though his grip on it had just gotten tighter. “I am. So, you are working for Loghain? Or hunting us, in any case. You’ve done your research.”

_He was travelling with Morrigan! The very same Morrigan! How incredible… Of all the tales they’d heard…_

“No, no,” Bee said, “can’t you see?”

“I don’t understand. If this is a trick—”

Bee blindly slid their knife back in its sheath, carefully studying the man’s traits; and praying to the Creators that they were right about this, and that the man was a reasonable one. When they spoke again, their voice was fast, higher pitched than usual, like it always sounded when they’d found something interesting to share:

“Listen, I— I bet that if you managed to talk to the Keeper of clan Sabrae, and asked about a certain Bee Mahariel, she would tell you they’ve died. And if I were to research— what’s your name?”

For a second it was as though he wasn’t going to answer, and then he squinted and said, “Aedan. Aedan Cousland.”

“If I were to research Aedan Cousland, I’d find a gravestone.” They ignored the shift of atmosphere and pressed on. “I think — however impossible — I think we are connected. We are the same. You are… Or I suppose _I_ am, from your perspective… What could have been the last Grey Warden of Ferelden apart from Alistair.”

“I’m dead?” Aedan asked stiffly. The tip of his sword clinked softly as it hit the stone floor.

“In my world, I think you may be. And in yours, I—”

Bee’s voice died down despite themselves as the reality of the situation dawned on them. They stepped closer to the portal and let themselves drop to the ground, where they sat with their legs crossed.

“There was… An elven artefact. An Eluvian. It was tainted. My best friend died, and I came close to not recovering either. I suppose that in your world, I was never saved.” They spoke the last bit in a whisper. They hadn’t really considered the fact that they’d come close to not making it that day.

From the corner of their eye, they saw Aedan put down his sword and sit in front of them, one knee raised against himself.

“So…” he began softly. “You exist in a world where I don’t. And _I_ exist in a world where _you_ don’t. That’s what you’re saying, right? How— How is that even possible?”

Bee chewed on their lip. “The Keeper used to tell us about these— these _worlds_ that happened alongside each other, just like… rivers separating into several streams and never meeting again. I didn’t think it was anything but a legend.”

“If that’s true, then how come it’s not known? How come people don’t see these… parallel streams more often?”

Bee raised their face to the doorway between them. The magic of it felt so very peaceful, and yet powerful enough to break a body in half, just like a stormy ocean in the distance, far enough that it doesn’t look that dreadful, even though entire ships are being crushed into barbed pieces of wood in its eye.

“I don’t know,” they said, “Maybe it’s just too uncommon for it to have been noticed? It might only ever happen in important moments in history. What we’re doing is important, right?” they asked. What they didn’t dare say out loud was, _what if we fail at stopping the Blight and this is the end of it, for everyone?_

If the look in Aedan’s eyes was anything to go by, he was more than aware of the stakes of their situation. But he didn’t voice it either, instead he looked around and asked, “could it be linked to how much magic there is in this place?”

“Possibly. There’s also been a lot of deaths around here.”

“That affects the veil, doesn’t it? I don’t remember everything from those books I used to sneak out of the library, but events like what’s happened here can make it…weaker, right?”

Even though Aedan had seemed to initially only be trying to change the topic, his tone had quickly taken on a genuinely invested twist, and that spark in his eye as he tried to remember his old readings made Bee smile.

“Yes.” They nodded. “There was a spot like that, in some ruins close to where my clan sets up in the summer. It becomes easier for spirits to come through. But I guess it’s not the only leak it creates.”

They were both gazing up at the portal, and when they finally looked down they found themselves staring at each other. Bee smiled. Aedan mirrored their expression. It was a crooked, open smile, so faint yet so very sincere.

“Do you think this… tear will remain for long?” he was almost whispering now, as though he’d entered a sacred space.

Bee hummed, considering. “Probably not,” they concluded. “When one of us found any sort of opening in the veil our Keeper would ask us to leave it alone for the night, and it was always gone in the morning.”

Aedan nodded decisively. “It’s probably for the best. If you’ve met the people I’ve met, you’ll fear what some of them would do with a phenomenon like this.”

He brought his fingers forward, tentatively, until they reached the surface of the portal. It rippled like a puddle of water, sending shards of blue light across the room. Bee raised their hand and applied their palm to it; it felt like two pelts rubbed together until they were filled with electricity that would prickle and tingle. They stopped their open hand near Aedan’s, and, after a beat, he unfurled his own hand against theirs, pressed it with the thin layer of the portal between them.

It didn’t quite feel warm as much as it felt…a lot. Like the sound of a distant waterfall growing louder and louder as one got close, except there was no telling just how loud it would get. Bee snatched their hand back when it became too much, curling it into a fist and then unfolding it to look at the palm as though it might be burned.

It wasn’t. When they looked up, Aedan was sitting back again, a faint smile on his lips.

“Any advice to share about our situation, before this thing closes in on us?”

Bee bit their lip, searching for the most important things they had learnt so far.

“You can rely on Alistair,” they affirmed. Ig there was one fact they were sure about, it was this one.

“I… do.”

And there was something on Aedan’s face just as he said that; a minute quirk of his eyebrows as he glanced to the side, a quickly suppressed smirk. Bee laughed.

So there was romance to be found during a Blight, huh.

“Oh I’m sure you do!”

Aedan coughed politely, but he didn’t even seem to try and hold back the fond smile that spread on his face.

It was far too adorable.

And then his expression grew much more serious as he began shuffling around, nervously pushing his sword with the tip of his boot, glancing behind him briefly.

“What about Zevran?” he finally asked in a low voice.

Bee tilted their head as they unsuccessfully tried to decrypt that strange expression on Aedan’s face.

“What about him?”

“What do you think of him?”

“I… I want to see the best in him. Him and I are— well. We trust each other well enough in bed, and he’s never used the opportunity to pull a dagger on me yet.”

“Oh.” Aedan moved back. “You’ve taken him up on his offer, then.”

Bee smiled slyly. “And you haven’t.”

“No.”

“Is it because of Alistair?”

That seemed to make Aedan uncomfortable. His eybrows pulled together in anger. “I wouldn’t betray Alistair.” His tone was calm, although his whole body had gone stiff.

“No, he’s far too sweet.” Bee smiled, hoping to defuse whatever they’d stepped into. “I think Fen’harel himself would have your head for harming him, and you’d deserve it.”

“Probably.”

Bee just looked at him for a few instants, trying to decide whether their next words would be wise, but then they begun talking before they’d really reached a decision. They’d never been the best at holding their tongue.

“Hey, listen. I don’t know your Alistair, and I don’t know your relationship with him. But I do know that _my_ Alistair has a very adventurous gaze that finds its way to Zevran far more often than is entirely appropriate.” They clicked their tongue in emphasis.

Aedan’s eyes widened a little and then he shook his head vigorously, and Bee could swear he looked bashful. “He doesn’t trust him,” he said very fast, “it’s only natural he watches him.”

Bee shrugged. They were about to push forward, when the outline of the rift began crackling like burning wood about to fall apart. It was almost as though it was warning them of its impending collapse. Bee watched the shimmering edges ripple with energy, flaring up and then shooting light across invisible spiderweb-like threading.

“I think it’s about to close for good,” they noted in a whisper.

Aedan followed their gaze, face turning solemn. He joined his hands, intertwined his fingers as though he was praying. “It was an honour meeting you, Bee Mahariel.”

Bee smiled through the shiver that ran through them. They stared at these pale eyes until it was almost painful; they didn’t wish to forget them.

“I like you, Aedan. You’re going to do great. Kick Loghain’s arse good, huh?”

The rift crackled louder, light pulsing slow and strong in the dark room. Aedan smiled. “You know I will.” He had to raise his voice as the rift groaned louder. “And you have all the support my prayers can lend you in ending the Blight before it can cause any more destruction.”

Bee put their hand over their heart. Tears were prickling at the corner of their eyes, and they couldn’t tell whether they were caused by the light of the portal or by its imminent collapse and the man it was going to take with it.

“Thank you!” they shouted.

The rift snapped shut with a loud blast of air, so fast and powerful that Bee couldn’t have said whether their last words had even gone through.

Their eyesight was almost inoperative, reduced to spots of warm black on colder black, now that the aggressive blue light of the torn veil had disappeared.

“Goodbye, Aedan Cousland,” they said to the empty room. They sagged onto themselves, looking down blindly at their joined hands.

They didn’t even hear Alistair enter the room, nor did they realise their words had been heard, until his voice rose:

“Couslands? Where did you hear that name? They’re from… Highever, right?”

Bee’s head snapped around to find the shape of Alistair holding a flickering candle.

“Where’s that?” they asked, falling back into their earlier position, staring at the empty space where the portal used to stand. “Do you think we’ll ever have the time to visit it? There’s something I want to check there.”

Alistair’s feet shuffled on the stone floor as he came to sit next to them, putting the candle down in front of him. “It’s at the very north of Ferelden, by the Waking Sea,” he said. “Is it urgent?”

Bee shook their head. They swayed to the side and gently knocked their shoulders together. “Not really. There’s an…old friend, there.” They paused. “I don’t think he’s alive any longer.”

They said this in a mild voice, and they only realised how it must have sounded when Alistair cleared his throat uncomfortably.

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. We’ve only just met.”

“I thought he was an old friend.” Alistair’s frown was obvious in his voice, and the mental image it created in Bee’s mind was so precise it made their heart ache and swell in fondness all at once.

“He was,” they said, simply.

Alistair laughed. “Sometimes you say things that I have _no hope_ of understanding. I know I’m far from the brightest, but my pride is _terribly_ wounded when I can’t even make heads or tails of what you’re telling me!”

Bee patted his knee amicably. “Sorry.” They let their hand slide to his thigh and rest there. “You would’ve liked him, you know. My friend.”

They smiled at him, studying his traits in the dim light of the candle as their eyes got used to it. And then Alistair gave them that look he sometimes had just for them, that secret smile and those eyes that slipped away from theirs and fluttered back up, like he didn’t know how to look straight at them; except this time the gesture reminded them of how Aedan had looked when he was talking about _his_ Alistair, all fond coyness and private satisfaction.

“I’m going to sleep.” Bee’s voice snagged in their throat, so they cleared it before continuing. “One day I’ll tell you about my friend, yeah?”

**Author's Note:**

> You can find (and share!) this fic on [tumblr](https://stormthedarkcity.tumblr.com/post/190682096768/)!
> 
> This story is part of the [LLF Comment Project](https://longlivefeedback.tumblr.com/llfcommentproject), which was created to improve communication between readers and authors. I invite and appreciate feedback, including:
> 
>   * Short comments
>   * Long comments
>   * Questions
>   * Constructive criticism
>   * “<3” as extra kudos
>   * Reader-reader interaction
> 

> 
> I reply to comments! If however you don’t want a reply, for any reason, feel free to add "/whisper" or "#whisper" to your comment and I'll appreciate it but not respond!  
> 


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